Sacrifice of One

Chapter 9

The Shelkovka Maintenance Facility was located about fifty miles west of Moscow. During World War II the building was used for the production of T-34 tanks. The tank had heavy armor and heavy dual-purpose guns making it the best medium tank of the first half of World War II.

One long prefabricated building, about thirty feet high and fifty feet wide, stood in the middle of the facility. Large roll-up metal doors were on both ends, with a short concrete driveway starting from the east side, and exiting the opposite end of the building. The drive was used for “running” tanks in and out during the war.

After the war, the building had been stripped of all production equipment and machinery. Now, wooden crates and cardboard boxes are piled around the inside perimeter. Trucks, utility vehicles, and flatbeds ferry parts to designated locations near the building where aircraft are assigned parking spaces. The facility doesn’t accommodate jets or large aircraft, but mostly helicopters and utility aircraft.

Parked along the north side, off a short runway, are two utility aircraft: AN-2s with NATO idColt. The AN-2 is used as a light utility transport, parachute drop aircraft, and many other tasks suited to a large, slow-flying biplane. The aircraft was used also during the Vietnam War as a naval interceptor. This modification had two "Skvall" torpedoes under the wing and was difficult to detect due to its low-altitude flight.

A Yakovlev YAK-38, code name Forger,is a vertical takeoff and landings aircraft. Parked farthest from the building, the front landing gear was still attached to a towing vehicle.

Dispersed across the back of the building are four helicopters: one Kamov KA-25, two KA-27s, and one Mil MI-24 armed assault/attack helicopter, designated Hind by NATO. The MI-24 is the only aircraft in the facility covered with camouflage netting.

As soon as Moshenko turned the truck onto a nearly deserted road, he killed the lights, slowed down, and drove farther off the road. They were less than a quarter mile away from their objective.

“Joe, give the men a briefing. Maybe they should get out and stretch their legs while we hash out the details. They may want to eat and drink something,” Grant said. Adler hopped out. Grant slid near the door. “Well, Grigori, what do you think? Will this work?”

“It must, my friend,” Moshenko answered.

Grant blew out a long breath. “Yeah. This is one of those ‘fly by the seat’ things, with fingers crossed. What do you know about security here?”

“I was here one year ago. This is not considered high security. I believe there are two or three guards, and of course, both large doors are locked. If I remember correctly, there is a security alarm.”

“Motion activated?” Grant asked.

Moshenko shook his head. “I do not believe so. Most of the facilities are the same. There are two emergency switches, one at the front and one at the back.”

Adler stood by the door, commenting before Grant could ask. “They’re okay. They didn’t want to disturb you.”

Grant nodded. “We’ll leave them here for the time being, out of harm’s way.”

“What about the guards?” Adler asked, resting a hand on the doorframe.

“We’ll take them out by whatever means necessary. Whether they’re hog-tied or disposed of, somebody’s gonna find them eventually… and possibly us,” he said, grimly.

“Grigori, as soon as I signal the all clear, you find a chopper that’s ready. Joe, when the guards are out of the way, you come back and get the men and our gear.” Grant got out of the truck and reached behind the seat, lifting the satchels.

“What about the truck?” Adler asked.

“Grab the plates,” Grant responded, as he was strapping on the holster. “In case it goes wrong, we’ll have to come back.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.”

Grant pulled the Makarov from the holster, and checked the clip. Eight rounds. “You need a ‘refill’?” he asked Moshenko, as he slammed the clip home.

“‘Refill’?”

“Yeah. Do you need any rounds?” Grant asked, grinning.

“Ahh. ‘Refill.’ No. I refilled at the safe house.”

Adler walked near Grant, who handed him another holster with pistol. “Let’s go.”

The three men stayed to the left of the road, until they were able to see the entire facility. Two large lights hung from either side of the doors, both front and rear. A single door, with a small rectangular window, was about fifteen feet from the front corner. There wasn’t any sign of guards, but a light was on inside.

Grant whispered, “Grigori, wait here. Joe, you take the far side.”

Pulling their masks down and crouching low, they hustled to the chain-link fence. Adler pulled wire clippers from his back pocket. Grant was down on one knee, holding the Makarov close, keeping his eyes in constant motion.

Adler tugged on his arm. They crawled through the opening then bolted across the field. Both of them ran to the front roll-up door, then Adler continued toward the side.

Grant slid his back along the building, stepping closer to the corner. With his pistol held tightly in his right hand, he poked his head around the corner. Clear. Sliding around the corner, he edged closer to the entry door, noticing hinges on the outside, meaning the door would swing out.

Stopping to listen, he could faintly hear a voice. Whoever it was, wasn’t near the door. He ducked under the window and went to the other side. Cautiously, he leaned his head, trying to see inside, but he still couldn’t see anyone.

As he straightened up, he saw Adler moving toward him, shaking his head. Grant reached across the door, gripping the knob with his left hand. With a quick look at Adler, he slowly turned it. Unlocked. He continued turning the handle, and little by little, pulled the door open half way.

There was a scraping sound, as if something heavy was being dragged across concrete. Adler moved closer, crouched, and looked inside. Two uniformed men were trying to move a piece of equipment down the center of the building, getting closer to their position. Adler stood, held up two fingers, and pointed aft.

Leaving the door partway open, Grant stepped in front of him. Raising his hand, he pointed forward with a finger. They crept into the building, seeing the two men, who had not yet seen them.

Taking quick strides toward the two, Grant and Adler gripped their pistols with both hands, pointing them straight ahead. Grant shouted in Russian, “Hands up! Hands up!” The men spun around, throwing their arms straight up.

While Grant kept the Russians in his sights, Adler rushed to them, yanked their sidearms from their holsters, then tucked each pistol in his waistband.

Again Grant shouted, “Down on the ground!” Both men fell at Adler’s feet. Adler holstered his weapon, and pulled a wrap of cord from inside his jacket.

Out of the corner of his eye, Grant caught a sudden movement. He swung his weapon right, and fired. The noise sounded like a cannon in the confined space.

Adler snapped around, seeing another Russian stagger from behind a row of equipment boxes, with a pistol in his hand. He fell forward, with his face smacking hard on concrete. Immediately, Grant swung his Makarov back toward the Russians laying on the floor.

Adler took a long, deep breath, then started tying the guards’ hands behind their backs. Pulling a rag from his pocket, he ripped it in half, and shoved each half into the mens’ mouths. Drawing his weapon again, he stood over the two.

Grant rushed to the man he shot. He kicked the pistol aside, seeing blood pooling under the body. Getting on one knee, he put two fingers on the man’s neck, hearing a long gurgling sound, the final breath leaving the body.

He got up and scanned the perimeter, looking for any place to hide the two guards, some place where they’d be out of sight when their reliefs showed up, hoping a few extra minutes would help with their escape. Nothing he could do about the pool of blood.

Jogging back to Adler, he yanked one of the guards to his feet, with Adler doing the same. With firm grips on the mens’ arms, they went toward the back of the building, stopping behind a tractor. “Get down!” Grant ordered. The two dropped to the floor. Adler pulled out another piece of cord, tying the man’s arms to the tractor. He did the same for the other guard, before tying their feet, then he double-checked the gags were secure.

With the job done, the two of them ran to the door, looking outside for Moshenko, motioning him toward them.

Moshenko slipped through the fence, hurrying toward the building with his pistol drawn. “You are both all right?” he whispered.

Grant nodded, then said, “Start looking for a chopper.” Then to Adler, “Go get the men and gear. Keep them outside. Stay with Grigori. I’m gonna check for any comm gear.” Adler nodded and took off.

Grant walked the room, searching. There had to be some kind of comm equipment. A metal table behind a stack of boxes had a TA-57 wire radio with a transistorized amplifier built in. It was an old unit, probably from the late 50s. He ripped the wire connecting the phone to the base unit, then smashed the dials inside the case. Best I can do, he thought. He heard footsteps, and turned to see Adler, signaling for him to go.

Rushing past the hog-tied guards, he gave them a quick two-finger salute, as he said, “Da sveedahnya!” He continued running to the door.

By the time he got to the back of the building, the chopper’s rotors were already winding up. Moshenko found a KA-27 fueled and ‘froggy,” as Adler liked to say. Grant caught up to Adler. They climbed into the cabin together.

The men were strapped in, waiting. “Ready?” Grant asked. Five thumbs up gave him his answer. He went to the cockpit, scrambled into the seat to Moshenko’s right and slipped his arms through the harness. “Everything look like it’s working?”

“All the gauges appear to check out,” Moshenko answered.

Already grinning, Grant purposely looked at his friend, as he said, “Then let’s boogie on outta here!”

“I will ask you later about this ‘boogie’ thing,” Moshenko responded.